On my arrival at the station, I merely had time to take my ticket and run to the train, which was just on the move. In a few seconds we were flying over rows of houses like vampires, leaving the then desolate Royal property, Vauxhall tumble-down theatre, with its skeleton firework frame, on the left. We passed through Chiswick, Barnes, Mortlake, Kew, with its toyish pagoda, leaving to the left Richmond, with its picturesque banks, cheerful villas, heroine of the hill, and its exquisite maids of honour; at the same time crossing the Thames, cheerfully smiling beneath us in its serpentine bed. Its limpid currents flowed merrily downwards to the mighty ocean through green bushes, aquatic plants, and the alabaster-coloured plumage of hundreds of swans. In twenty-five minutes we arrived at Staines station. I descended and immediately ascended again, but on the top of the Virginia Water coach, which generally waits for the special train. “Very frosty this morning, coachman.” “Hallo, Mr. Soyer! is that you? We have not seen you God knows how long. I suppose you have left us for good now?” “No, not quite; but your flat and unpicturesque country looks so dull and unsociable at this time of year.” “Then you prefer town just now?” said he. “I certainly do; there is always something to be seen there, and to keep one alive, morning, noon, and night.” “Very true, Mr. Soyer; we are very dull here in winter.” The top of the coach was loaded with passengers. “Well, boy, what are you about below?” “All right, coachman,” cried the parcel-boy. “Pst! pst! Go it, my Britons!” We were now at full trot, the north wind in our faces, and a kind of heavy sleet, which in a few minutes changed the colour of our noses to a deep crimson, very much like the unfashionable colour of beet-root, freezing our whiskers and moustaches like sugar-candy, but by no means quite so sweet-tasted. By way of a joke, I said to the coachman, “This is the good old English way of travelling, is it not?” “That it is, sir; and I’m very glad to see you know how to appreciate it. Talk about your railways, it’s perfect nonsense compared with a good four-in-hand coach, sir.” As he said this, he whipped his horses, “Pst! go ahead, my true blue! I recollect the good old time when we took from fourteen to fifteen hours from London to Dover, changing horses and drinking your glass of grog at almost every inn on the road--in fact, enjoying ourselves all night, especially when the widow was out.” “What widow?” said I. “The moon, to be sure!” “That is a bright idea of yours. I was not aware the pale queen of night was a widow.” “Lord bless you, sir, she must be a widow, for she always comes out alone, and keeps very late hours; a maid or a married woman can’t do that, you know,” said he, laughing heartily. “If your remark is not correct, it is at all events very original.”